wisdom’s daughter

and letting hand
lead into care,
wisdom’s daughter
meeting here

stay, persist
night arcing star,
path encircle
where we are

rose the gold
and light inscribe,
born to love
and born to thrive

letting trust guide
in your care,
your heart, your hope,
your blessing here.

WBJones, Sept. 2017
Proverbs 2:10-11




The Roost

red the berry clinging mountain,
brush held tight in breaking sun,

scrambled up the side another
pathway beckoning your run.

coarse the bramble snagging bootlace,
solitary face it seems,

thimbled toad in upslope lichen,
curling safe to stay the scene.

far the valley dropt below us,
far your circling away,

stretched out thin your light unfolding,
purpling the still of day.

how am I to orb this distance?
heighten sun return for you,

how am I to keep this holding,
letting go the slipping through.


brave things daring

sunlit crescent sifting leaves,
hilltop rising moon to see

silvered rock our climbing steep,
limning eclipse ‘neath our feet.

day-hid flare burst suddenly,
dark to light, your crossing fleet

streaming blaze your naming deep,
brave things daring you to me.


(tree leaf crescent eclipse photo August 21, 2017
courtesy of Kathleen Henderson Staudt.)


singer and song

In considering how, in John of the Cross,
the poem is coordinated with its prose commentary…

I focus on the relations between…
the opening of a space to beauty…
and a suffering of history.

[On] the contrast between…
the Spiritual Canticles
and the site of their birth, the dungeon…
in which John of the Cross was placed in solitary confinement.

Between the glorious body that is the poem [itself]
and the suffering body of the prisoner [writing it].

–  Michel de Certeau, “The Poem and its Prose”


bridge to us and time, crossing

Wild River Bridge

span to me and time, taking
fingers stretching slow, splaying
into us somehow, given

bridge to you and draw, crossing
step to ask and smile, testing
grounding reach beyond, arching

day to us and gate, open
breath release and brow, lighting
still the fall of night, lining

stream to ebb and flow, letting cleaving to and through, having
shore to let these from, growing

living into you, turning
view to lend us yours, curving
silvering the bend, taken.


pray for the peace

of how we have been in exile too long,
of how you keep giving your voice into song.

of how we come bringing our need into prayer,
of how we are rising your day-song to share.

of hand stretching sinew from curl into hug,
Shekinah, your shalom to those seeking love.

“Pray for the Peaceā€ / William B Jones, July 26, 2017.


“riven” < 13th c. Norse, to split (wood) radially from a log.

are others riven
as much as this?
turning how
and who and which

come river thread,
some one who ought;
the way ahead,
a bend we missed?

or you, in simple,
smiling step,
a way to keep,
the log to split,

these rings of growth
in you to see,
love this way next,
and this way free.